


Vacation Stress

by historical_allusions



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, being good parents, cup magic, parent teacher conferences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 14:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15075215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historical_allusions/pseuds/historical_allusions
Summary: Jack wakes up ten years in the future and has to navigate not only retirement, but also his twin boys, hockey-parent politics, and parent/teacher conferences.  But the strangest part of the future isn't the self-driving cars, it's waking up every morning next to his husband, Kent Parson.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IprotectKennyP (dauntperplexity)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dauntperplexity/gifts).



Jack sorted through the mail when one card stopped him short.  It was still early November, too early for Christmas cards, but maybe the Chow family wanted to get a jump on their seasons’ greetings.  There was a family portrait of Chowder and Farmer (now also Chow, Jack supposed) with their young son on the beach.  In the bottom corner was a picture of a newborn wrapped up in a soft pink blanket, a stuffed shark toy next to her.

_Christopher, Caitlan, and Calvin Welcome to their Family Baby Caroline Elizabeth Chow!_

Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Chowder, probably before he and Caitlan had their first child.  He knew that he should drop by the next time he was in San Jose for a game.  San Francisco wasn’t too far a drive and Jack could get them all tickets, but with two young kids they might be too busy to drop everything and come to a hockey game….  Jack sighed and went to go put up the card on the refrigerator.

It wasn’t like Jack didn’t keep in contact with anyone from his Samwell days.  It was just that they drifted.  Or maybe just he drifted.  He still texted Shitty and Lardo.  In fact, he was looking forward to the holiday card they sent out every year where they parodied traditional family photos.  Jack was shocked the U.S. Postal Service even let them send those photos through the mail.  The three of them met up sometimes when he was in Boston.  Holster helped manage some of Jack’s investment portfolio, which was how Jack got most of his updates on Ransom.  Last he’d heard, Nursey and Dex were doing something in… Chicago?  They kept saying they should all meet up next time Jack played the Blackhawks but something always seemed to get in the way.

Ironically enough, the player he saw most often was Connor Whisk who Jack never even went to school with but he was the only other player in recent Samwell history to go into the NHL.  Even then, Whiskey played in the Pacific Division with the Schooners so he and Jack didn’t exactly meet up often.  Still, Jack would give him a nod if they were ever at the same event.  The last time he was in Seattle, the two of them went out for a drink and Connor floated a few questions about how supportive the Falconers were during his Coming Out process so Jack started a conversation with Falconers management about maybe getting Whiskey back out east.

It was probably for the best.  Jack had been in the NHL eight seasons.  He would be turning thirty-five that summer and he could feel his body getting to the point where he wouldn’t be able to push it much longer.  He’d been in the NHL longer than most, certainly longer than he thought he would be.  But Whiskey was younger and criminally underutilized on the Schooners; he’d be a good addition to the Falconers if they could get him when his contract came up next season.

He might be a good replacement on Jack’s line.

Jack wasn’t actively thinking about retirement yet, but it was on the horizon.  He’d thought once or twice about where he’d want to end his career.  He had no regrets on the Falconers—they’d gone from the underdog expansion team to a highly respected NHL contender.  Jack had two Stanley Cup rings and four East Conference Championships to prove it.  The season was going well so far, if they could keep injuries to a minimum, they would have a solid run in the Playoffs.

Still, Jack had daydreams about finishing his career in Montreal.

Jack didn’t have any regrets playing for the Falconers.  But looking at the Chow’s card with their new baby girl, it was hard not to think of what could have been.

Yeah, he would’ve like something like that.  With the right person.  At the right time.

But Jack was already thirty-four and he wasn’t sure either was coming along any time soon.  Or maybe both passed him by.

He’d just… like a break.  Not a break like the off-season where he spent half the time getting over the disappointment of getting knocked out and the rest of the time training for the next season.  Jack wasn’t ready to retire but he could definitely use a vacation.  Just a week where he didn’t have to go through film or think about his responsibilities as Captain.  A week to enjoy something more like what Chowder had.

Jack straightened the card out of his refrigerator and sighed.  It was getting late.  He should have already been in bed, not standing in the kitchen feeling maudlin.


	2. Sunday

Jack woke up to a pounding at the door and nearly fell out of bed.  He looked around frantically because he didn’t know where he was but it certainly wasn’t his apartment.  The ruckus outside the door continued while Jack tried to remember what happened.

“Papa, hurry up!  Breakfast!”

“Daddy says you’re not allowed to sleep anymore!”

Jack had no idea what the children outside were talking about.  He hadn’t gone out the night before and he didn’t feel hungover.  He’d just gone to bed.

He looked around and found a cell phone still plugged in on the bedside table.  He checked the lock screen and it was a shaky selfie of two young faces squished together to fit into frame.

The most jarring part of waking up in an unfamiliar bedroom under hazy circumstances was that Jack apparently had a selfie as his lock screen.  A selfie of two adorable children, but still.  What.

The phone unlocked with his thumbprint on the home button and Jack blinked.

Then Jack saw the date on his home screen and nearly dropped the phone.

_Ten years?_

He looked around the bedroom and found a door that led to the master bath where looked in the mirror.  He was going grey at the temples and he could see crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.  Jack poked at them with shaking hands as he slowly came to the realization that this was all too elaborate to be some sort of team prank.

 _“Papa, you’re missing breakfast!”_ a voice called through the door again, this time in a lightly accented French.

 _“I’ll be there in a minute,”_ Jack called back, opening up the web browser on his phone.

Jack briefly considered searching himself but decided against it.  If he was in his forties he definitely wasn’t playing hockey any more and he didn’t want to know how that story ended.  It was sort of like asking someone from the future how you died and he wasn’t ever going to be ready for that information.

Instead, he scrolled through the various contacts in his phone when it buzzed with a calendar reminder.

_Don’t panic.  You asked for a week. JLZ_

Jack stared at the notification on the unfamiliar phone in a bedroom he’d never seen before.  He let out a shaky breath and wondered how this could have happened.  Jack grew up hearing stories about Cup Magic but never so far out from a Cup day.  Maybe the Cup was enacting some delayed retribution for shitting in it as a baby.

There wasn’t much left to do other than go downstairs.

Jack was only wearing his boxers so he pulled out a few drawers until he found some track pants and a t-shirt that fit a little tight around the shoulders.  He opened the bedroom door and followed the sounds of laughing children down the stairs and into the kitchen.  Part of his mind registered photos hanging on the walls but Jack was in too much of a daze to scrutinize them.

He walked into the kitchen and saw the two boys from his phone screen tearing into matching stacks of pancakes.  One was the spitting image of Bad Bob, from the way his hair parted in the center to his warm brown eyes and how he grinned around a massive mouthful of pancakes.  Jack felt his breath hitch because that was his son, no doubt about it.  The other was busy piling strawberries on top of his stack on pancakes.  Twins, Jack would guess their ages maybe five or six years old.  But the other one had Jack’s eyes and a mop of mess blond hair that stuck up in the front.

Jack turned and found himself face to face with Kent Parson, grinning up at him while he pressed a cup of coffee into his hand and leaned in for a kiss.  Jack was too shocked to do anything other than stand there while Kent pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and the boys made disgusted sounds from the table.

“You’re up late, old man,” Kent teased, bringing over two more plates to the table.  “Artie, cool it with the strawberries, little guy.  They’re not going anywhere.”

Jack was married.  To Kent Parson.  And they had two children who upon further inspection looked like mirror images of the two of them.

What.

 

Jack spent most of his first day trying not to let on anything was different while simultaneously panicking about how to fool two children who he’d never met and a husband who he hadn’t had a civil conversation with since Juniors.

They spent most of the day running errands.  Kent didn’t like driving in the snow so he wrestled the kids into their car seats and Jack frantically tried to look up directions to the closest supermarket.  And cars in the future drove using voice commands which was a big adjustment.

But then he was too wrapped up trying not to lose his mind as the children demanded to hear early 2010s music on repeat which Kent rolled his eyes but acquiesced to because, as Jack discovered, he was a huge pushover who would spoil their children at the drop of a hat even if it subjected the entire car to an interminable loop of Carly Rae Jepsen.

Which was to say nothing for how difficult it was to keep track of the boys once they got into the actual supermarket.

Over the course of the day Jack learned their sons were named Thomas Prince Parson and Arthur Currie Parson, mainly because Kent used their full names to get their attention when they repeatedly tried to wander off.  Jack was startled to learn from his credit card he’d taken Kent’s name but it seemed like maybe he’d traded it for exclusive naming rights of their children.  Jack could see how Parson-Zimmermann would have been a mouthful for the boys.  Though privately he thought Zimmermann-Parson could have worked.

The entire day, Jack wasn’t sure anything was real.  It felt real?  But how could he have skipped ten years into the future?  Time travel?  Body swap?  The note on his phone made it feel more like a body swap.

More importantly, if it was a body swap, did that mean his older consciousness was in his past body for a week?  Because Jack was currently on an eight-game point streak and he had priorities.

“You okay, babe?” Kent asked while Jack zoned out in the middle of putting away their groceries.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Jack said and Kent seemed dubious as Jack opened another wrong cabinet.

“I got this if you need to lay down a while,” he offered and Jack nodded, letting Kent deal with it.

The boys were in the living room playing a racing video game and shoving each other depending on who was winning so Jack doubted they’d notice his absence.

Jack did end up laying down for a while because he was _tired._   Tired in a way he wasn’t at thirty-four.  Mentally exhausted from trying to figure out how he’d fallen into an alternate reality and physically tried from trying to keep up with their hyper-active children.  He must have ended up dozing off because he woke to the bed dipping and Kent running a hand through his hair.

“Feeling any better?” Kent asked, a little line between his eyebrows that Jack was struck by the urge to reach up and smooth it out.

“Just a headache,” he lied.  Jack couldn’t remember Kent ever sounding so fond around him and he leaned a little into Kent’s touch.  It’d been a while since Jack had been with anyone and as strange as he found the situation, he liked the familiarity with which Kent reached out for him.

“It’s almost dinner time.  Maybe you should eat and take some ibuprofen or something.  We can put the boys down early and call it a night,” Kent offered.  There was a crash from downstairs and Kent sighed.

“No, I got it,” Jack said, getting up.  “You’ve been with them all day.”

“I really don’t remember having this much energy at their age,” Kent muttered and Jack couldn’t help but feel fond as he got up and went to investigate the cause of the disturbance.

The thing was, Kent and Jack didn’t talk.

They played each other two times a year and while Jack knew a few players on the Aces, they never hung out after.  Jack didn’t think they even exchanged any words outside of the All-Star Game, which Jack skipped the year before.  They might follow each other on a few social media pages but it wasn’t like Jack managed his own.

Kent and Jack played each other two times a year and once, memorably, for a Stanly Cup Final the Falconers won.  They shook hands afterward as two Captains and Jack meant it when he told Kent his team played well but Kent hurried off the ice with the rest of his team before they could really talk.

Kent made a statement when Jack came out as the first bisexual player in the NHL about how Jack’s hockey spoke for itself, which was more than Jack expected but was a tepid statement at best.

But he and Kent didn’t chat.  Jack didn’t know what Kent was up to or how he was doing and that never bothered him before.  But here they were married up in a house in Montreal with two sons.

Jack got through dinner and bath time with relatively few mistakes.  Getting Arthur to eat his vegetables was a war of attrition, the likes of which were only matched by getting Thomas into the bath, but Jack finally got them both in bed.  His house with Kent was large enough so he was a little surprised the two shared a room.  Jack never had siblings growing up and always had his own space with the singular exception of his freshman year at Samwell, but he knew Kent shared a bedroom right up until he got drafted for the NHL.

Just when Jack thought they were done for the night, Arthur pushed a copy of _The Philosopher’s Stone_ into his hands.  One chapter for a bedtime story, that was the rule.  But one chapter turned into three before the boys finally drifted off to sleep.

Jack slipped into the bedroom to find Kent left the reading light on but was otherwise knocked out.  Jack couldn’t help but feel relieved.  He showered quickly and got into the open side of the bed.  No sooner had he laid down did Kent shift closer to him and Jack tensed in response.  Kent didn’t come any closer but he murmured a goodnight as Jack turned out the light.


	3. Monday

Despite the distance they kept between them when they went to sleep, Jack woke with Kent in his arms, their legs tangled together under the blankets.

Jack began the process of extracting himself awkwardly but Kent just sought him out, waking when Jack tried to push Kent’s arm off him.

“Morning,” he grinned, leaning in to press another kiss to Jack’s cheek.  Kent wasn’t any more coherent in the morning than he’d been at sixteen and he misinterpreted Jack’s squirming for something else.  “Think we have time before the boys wake up?” he asked, shifting his hips to line up with Jack’s.

“Uh…” Jack started, pushing away and Kent frowned.  He rubbed his eyes with a yawn and checked the clock on the bedside table.  Kent gasped and kicked off the blankets, practically launching himself out of bed.

“The kids!” he said and Jack blinked at him.  “School!”

Right.  Monday.

“You get them up and I’ll deal with breakfast.  I can take them in because I have a meeting in town anyway,” Kent said, giving orders like they were coming out of a time-out.  “Okay, break,” he nodded, heading to the closet to get dressed.

Jack went down the hall to wake up the boys and narrowly avoided a tantrum when he told Arthur he could not wear his hockey shorts to school.

“It’s _snowing,_ ” Jack tried to reason.

“I wear them on the ice!”

“That is not the same thing,” Jack said but his son would not be persuaded.  Jack was taken aback by how much he looked like Kent when he huffed and crossed his arm.  “Okay bud, how about a compromise.”  They were already running late.  Jack had to capitulate.

Arthur frowned at the unfamiliar word.  “Compromise,” he repeated.

“Yes, _à faire des compromis_ , like we do a little bit of what you want and a little bit of what I want.”

Arthur looked suspicious about doing what Jack wanted but he uncrossed his arms.

“You can’t wear the hockey shorts to school because it’s too cold,” Jack explained with as much patience as he could muster when bargaining with a six-year-old.  “But you can wear your hockey socks under your pants and also a jersey, so long as it is clean and you have a warm shirt underneath,” he allowed.

Jack watched as Arthur weighed his options.  Eventually the boy nodded and Jack sighed in relief, helping his son find everything he needed to get out the door.  When they joined the others for breakfast, Kent gave Jack a wry look and passed him coffee and a bowl of oatmeal, brown sugar sprinkled on top.

“He wanted to wear shorts,” Jack said helplessly.

“Wonder where he gets that from,” he said with a pointed look at Jack’s own running shorts he’d worn to bed the night before.

“I’m not the one who piles six quilts up on the bed,” he said between bites of oatmeal.

“Yeah and I’m not the one with sub-artic toes,” Kent replied easily, going to get the boys’ jackets.

Kent wove a scarf in bold Aces colors around his neck before putting on a wool overcoat.  Jack had to admit Kent aged well and his coat cut a very slim figure on him.

“Why is it I’m always the one dropping them off when we’re late?” he asked Jack, leaning in for a quick kiss.  “This is why the other parents always give me dirty looks.”

“They’re just confused how an attractive guy like me ended up with someone like you,” Jack chirped while he helped Thomas get his hat over his ears.  “They’re jealous.”

“Excuse you, you are most definitely the trophy husband,” Kent laughed, herding the twins into the garage.  “I’ll see you tonight for dinner.  Love you.”

Jack wasn’t sure if he should say it back.  He knew it shouldn’t matter but it felt wrong.  He realized he waited a beat too long and raised a hand to wave instead.  “We’ll see you then.  Drive safe.”

Jack took a minute to just enjoy the quiet of the house.  He hadn’t realized it but yesterday was so busy he hadn’t gotten a chance to look around.  Jack exhaled and decided to explore the house.

He and Kent did well for themselves financially.  They had over 20 years in the NHL between them but they didn’t flaunt it.  The house was modest, enough for the four of them with an extra room for an office.  From what little of it he saw yesterday, the neighborhood seemed exclusive.  Vast mansions with heavy gates lined the main road.  Jack wondered if Kent was bothered their house had to be one of the smaller ones in the neighborhood.

Jack found their wealth displayed in subtler ways—heated floors in the kitchen, two shiny BMWs, the stone fireplace in the living room with picture frames lined up on the top of it.  The photos showed frequent vacations with the twins as well as some of their more spectacular hockey achievements.

Jack pulled out his phone and tentatively typed Kent’s name into the search engine.  Kent played every single one of his games in the NHL in Las Vegas, winning the team three Stanley Cups before his retirement.  His more recent news mentions were in connection with the charities he worked with.  Underprivileged youth, LGBT outreach, and notably two organizations that specialized in helping teens struggling with addiction.

A brief sweep through the office told Jack that Kent was busy with more than charity work, though.  He worked with professional athletes, helping them manage their money.  Jack couldn’t tell how much of Kent’s time the venture took up or why Kent would keep working when they had ample income to fall back on, but the office was organized with what seemed to be predominantly Kent’s papers.

Jack found a heavy biography in the living room on World War Two Tank Commanders with his handwriting in the margins, something that made him smile.  He also found a weirdly large amount of yoga equipment.  In the future, does Jack do yoga?  Does _Kent?_

In the kitchen, Jack found large calendar in the kitchen color coded with everyone’s schedules.  Jack reviewed entries for Family Game Night and Movie Night with a soft smile.  He saw weekly hockey practices as well as time set aside for Open Skate on the weekends.  Kent did indeed have a meeting and then lunch with Swoops in the city.  In the box next to the appointment, Kent doodled a little basketball which Jack couldn’t help but find endearing.

Jack’s heart skipped a beat when he saw a Parent/Teacher Conference marked on the schedule for tomorrow.

Then his heart stopped when he saw Bob and Alicia scheduled to pick the boys up from school on Friday.  Because, in a box framed with hearts, Saturday was Jack and Kent’s wedding anniversary.

Jack opened his phone and searched his text conversations for any reference to plans for an anniversary but he came up flat.  The only time it was ever mentioned was in one text conversation with Kent.

> Kent: Can’t wait to give you the better gift for our anniversary (again)
> 
> Me: Gifts are not a contest.
> 
> Kent: Wow for someone who gets the better gift every year you sure are a sore loser
> 
> Me: Well this year I’m going to win.  Like I did in the 2020 Final.
> 
> Kent: Harsh.  Uncalled for.  You’re so going down.

So they try to one-up each other with their gifts; Jack wouldn’t say he was surprised.  But Jack also had no idea what he would get Kent for an anniversary and the thought of disappointing him made his chest tighten.  It wasn’t like Jack could go out and buy Kent something because they technically hadn’t spoken in years.  He didn’t have any idea what Kent liked anymore.  Jack spent the rest of the day searching through the house for something that looked even remotely like an anniversary gift before realizing he might accidentally find Kent’s gift to him and what if he tried to give it to Kent instead?

After several hours, Jack came to the conclusion he didn’t get Kent _anything_ which meant he was also a terrible husband.  He considered going through his contact list again to ask someone what he should get but Jack couldn’t think of any good way to word a message about forgetting to buy his husband an anniversary gift with less than a week’s notice.

When Jack searched their closet, he came across several photo albums labeled neatly with dates along the spines.  He reached for the one labeled _Wedding!_ and cracked it open.  The album was filled with printed photos, some copies of which he’d seen hanging around the house.

He and Kent looked so happy, arms interlocked while they shared glasses of champagne.  There was a tryptic of their first bite of wedding cake: Jack distracted Kent enough to smear icing all over his face, Kent’s retaliation, and the two of them laughing at the aftermath.

There were other photo albums he flipped through.  His favorite was a photo of Kent holding one of their sons, Thomas based off the black tuft of hair visible from the blankets.  It must have been right after they were born.  Kent looked exhausted and terrified but also so full of love Jack began to see how he could maybe fall in love with someone like that.

They looked so happy.  In every photo they were hanging off each other and Jack hadn’t seen Kent smile like that since they were kids.  They looked like they fit together.  Jack wanted it so badly for the both of them.

He just had to figure out how to make it a reality.


	4. Tuesday

By his third day, Jack was fairly competent at getting the boys up and dressed for school on time.  Arthur still pouted and tried to see how much hockey gear he could get away with wearing to school but Jack drew the line at his helmet.  Thomas continued to display a frankly worrisome aversion to jackets despite the freezing temperatures but Jack got them into their car seats and to school on time with minimal casualties.

When he returned home, Kent was in the office working and Jack settled down on the couch ostensibly to read his biography (which looked incredibly interesting), but actually to search the internet for an anniversary gift.  He found himself worried about letting Kent down and annoyed at his future self for not thinking of something in advance.  The internet told him “Bronze or Pottery” was for the eighth wedding anniversary but what the hell was Jack supposed to do with that?  Maybe he could ask Lardo about the Pottery thing….

Jack closed out of the window on his phone quickly when Kent walked into the living room.

“Scoot over,” he said, making room for himself on the couch.  Kent was carrying a laptop and settled down with it across his lap.

Jack opened the biography and started to read where his future self left off, making a note or two in the margins as he went as to not arouse suspicion.  He balanced the book on the armrest of the couch so he could write in it easier.  After a few minutes of Kent tapping at his keyboard, he switched positions to lay with his head in Jack’s lap and Jack froze.

“What?” Kent asked, looking up at him with a line between his eyebrows again.

“Nothing,” Jack said quickly, looking back to his book but he could feel Kent’s shoulders tense on his thigh.  “It’s just… your reading glasses.  I like them.”

“You’re such a dork,” Kent said, rolling his eyes and looking back at his laptop.  He made a few more keystrokes and then glanced up at Jack.  “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jack said.

Jack shifted his other arm and carefully reached out to run his fingers through Kent’s hair and Kent settled back down against him.  Kent’s hair was still a mess in the front and longer than Jack was used to seeing it.  His fingers got caught in some tangles and he gently worked them until they smoothed out and Jack could feel Kent relax against him.

“You’re staring again,” Kent said without looking up from his computer.

“Sorry,” Jack said, stilling his hand in Kent’s hair.  He swallowed and tried to think of something to say.  “You’re beautiful.”

Kent stopped typing and sat up a little. 

He turned his body so he could lean in and kiss Jack softly.  This time Jack was ready for it and met him half way, grinning when Kent’s glasses bumped against his nose.

“Such a dork,” Kent repeated fondly before laying back in Jack’s lap to continue his muttering about spreadsheets and overhead costs.

While Jack and Kent definitely split childcare responsibilities, it seemed like Jack was the parent who shuttled the children around more often then not, potentially due to Kent’s job but more likely due to Kent’s aversion to driving in the snow.  As it got later in the afternoon, Kent returned his work to the office and put on a collared shirt so they could look respectable for their meeting with their children’s teacher.  Jack drove them to the school and Kent hopped out to walk the boys back to the car, holding hands with each of them.

Thomas took a little bit of a detour to jump into a snow bank and giggled while Kent bent down to help him out.  Arthur rolled his eyes at his brother’s antics and Jack was once again reminded of a teenaged Kent.

Thomas still had snow melting in his dark hair when Kent got them strapped into the car.  Thomas regaled them with stories from class, often doing voices for his classmates, to inpart on his parents the same lessons he learned during the day.  The twins knew they’re going to Jeff’s house which meant time on Swoops’ private rink so they were both ecstatic the whole ride there.

They dropped the boys off with Jeff and then drove back to the school.  As they got closer to the brick building, Kent began to fidget in the passenger seat.  Kent usually had some sort of nervous energy so Jack reached over to take his hand and Kent finally stopped bouncing his knee.

The boys attended an elite primary school, one where the classes were small enough the twins could stay together.  It looked like multiple classes were having parent-teacher conferences and some of the other parents nodded to them in the hall.  As they waited outside the boys’ classroom, Jack watched Kent compose himself.

“It’s going to be fine,” Jack muttered to him while they waited for the previous set of parents to finish their meeting with the teacher.

On the outside, Kent looked calm.  It was the same look of casual detachment Jack was familiar with from Kent’s media interviews after a tough loss.  Which was why Jack knew better than to believe he was fine.

_“Monsieur Parson,”_ they were both greeted by the twins’ teacher.

Mme. Murphy had a round face and a perpetual look of pleasantness along with a Masters in Child Psychology and Development.  Kent pulled his hand away from Jack’s and shoved them in his pockets as they walked into the classroom where the boys spent most of their time.

Jack looked on in interest as they were shown their desks as their activity books.  Jack also saw the class pet rabbit Thomas mentioned and Kent let it sniff at his hand while Jack nodded at the caterpillar chrysalises they were studying.

They sat down with Mme. Murphy and Jack reached for Kent’s hand again under the table, gratified when Kent didn’t pull away.

“Were either you or your husband twins?” she asked them.

“No, Jack is an only child,” Kent said, tone even and polite.  “I have three older brothers and a younger sister, but we’re all pretty spread out in age.”

“Well I’m sure you are aware but it bears repeating anyway, it’s very important to treat each of your children as individuals, despite the many similarities they share genetically or personally-wise,” she began.

Kent and Jack listened intently to Mme. Murphy’s evaluation of their sons.

Thomas was animated in class, sometimes to the point where it interfered with his ability (or more often the ability of his classmates) to focus, but he was on par with the rest of his peers academically so she wasn’t worried.  She believed his penchant for story telling developed from an active imagination as opposed to a need for attention and they should continue to encourage him to develop it at home.

Thomas also made friends easily and was popular in the class.  A bit of a jokester but never at the expense of the other children, something that made Jack inordinately proud.  Thomas definitely preferred to run around than to sit at a desk quietly, but once he was engaged he could focus for hours on a single subject.

Jack felt as though the conference was going fairly well and couldn’t figure out why Kent was so on edge until Mme. Murphy shifted the conversation to Arthur and Kent’s grip tightened on Jack’s hand to the point of pain.  Jack tried not to wince and gave him a reassuring squeeze back.

“Arthur is doing very well in academics, top of the class in reading and mathematics,” she began.

“That’s good.  He’s very interested in reading at home as well,” Jack added when it seemed as though she expected a response.  Jack really only had two days of Arthur begging to hear more of Harry Potter for him to base his comment on but Kent nodded so he figured he must have gotten it right.

“Arthur is considerably more withdrawn in the class room, though.  He isn’t interested in spending much time with the other students apart from Thomas,” she added.

“He’s shy,” Kent said, keeping his tone level.  “So was I at his age.  But at home he’s much more open.  He’s really a happy kid.”

“He’s extremely shy,” she agreed.  “And all children develop differently, but over the course of our autumn term it’s difficult to say he’s made any friends in the classroom other than his brother.  Thomas does involve Arthur in different activities but he will rarely seek out others on his own.

“The boys will likely be in different classes next year and Arthur needs to learn to develop social connections without his brother’s influence.  I would recommend involving him in some activities of his own, other than hockey, and not with Thomas.”

Mme. Murphy put up her hands as if she was expecting some sort of protest but Jack watched as Kent sat patiently to listen to what she had to say.

“Mainly my suggestion is that you involve him in activities where he can learn to make friends but also to solve his problems in a non-violent way.  He enjoys drawing and art classes are a possibility.  We have a zero- tolerance policy for bullying here and that he looks to setting problems between students physically is a cause for concern,” she finished and Kent inhaled sharply like he wanted to say something but he clenched his jaw instead.

They finished their meeting and Kent smiled and shook Mme. Murphy’s hand while chatting about the boys and the upcoming holidays.  Once he and Jack left the classroom, Jack could see Kent practically shaking.  It was already dark outside and they walked back to the car in silence but Jack paused outside of it and waited for Kent to say whatever he’d been holding back during the conference.

“He loves hockey.  I’m not pulling him out of it,” Kent said with a vehemence that shocked Jack.  “This is the same kid who’s afraid of bending down the corners in books so he doesn’t hurt the pages.  He’s _anything_ but violent.”

Kent was fuming and Jack knew from experience when he was this upset Kent said whatever was on his mind.  “We could enroll him in all the fucking knitting and sculpture classes in world and it wouldn’t change things.  Yeah, he’s shy.  He’s smaller than every other kid in that class by two inches!  But does she think it’s a problem with the classroom environment?  No, she goes after our six-year-old!

“He got in one fight.  One!  If you can even call it a fight, I mean, Thomas dragged him out of it before he could even bruise his knuckles.  Kids are vicious and say really fucked up shit to each other at this age and he’s supposed to what?  Use his words and talk about his feelings until they stop?  That’s such bullshit.  Thomas might laugh it off but other kids shouldn’t say stuff about him and when his brother steps in, they should expect to get hit!”

Jack didn’t know what Kent was talking about but he also could see Kent was only making himself more upset.  Not sure what else to do, he reached out and pulled Kent forward, crushing him in an embrace.  Kent was still shaking against Jack’s chest but he leaned into him, wrapping his arms around his back for support.

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” Kent said adamantly.

“I know, I know,” Jack told him, rubbing his back until Kent calmed down.  “I got you, Kenny.”

Kent eventually stopped shaking and rested his head against Jack’s chest for a moment.  “Let’s just get the kids and go home.”

Jack nodded and they got into the car and he started the drive to Jeff’s house.  Kent stayed in the car and Jack went to explain to Jeff things were fine but they had to get home.  Jack knew Jeff and Kent were close but Jack also knew Jeff didn’t like him.  During games, Jeff went out of his way to slash or trip Jack.  But in the future, they seemed friendly enough with one another and Jeff seemed to help out a lot with watching the boys, even with his wife expecting their first child in the next few months.  Jack found the boys playing in the living room and after he let them whine a little he got them back into their jackets and into the car.

Thomas tried to tell them what they did after their homework but he kept nodding off halfway through his sentences.  Arthur knocked out in his car seat and Jack had to carry him into the house.

“I got this, go get ready for bed,” Kent told him, heading towards the twins’ bedroom to put them down for the night.

Jack showered and put on pajamas before bringing the biography up from the living room to flip through a few more pages.  It was interesting enough and Jack considered looking it up when he got back to his own time frame but he found it couldn’t hold his attention and he dwelled on Kent reaction after the parent-teacher conference.

Kent eventually returned to their room and changed into one of Jack’s Falconers shirts before he crawled into bed next to him.  Kent wasted no time ducking under one of his arms and burrowing against Jack to settle in a spot beneath his chin.  Jack reached over to turn out the reading light and put his arms around Kent carefully.

Jack held him and rubbed small circles against his skin but the tightness in Kent’s body didn’t go away.  Jack wished he knew what he normally did to comfort him.  Kent eventually drifted off still half on top of Jack’s chest but even then, Kent still felt tense against him.


	5. Wednesday

Kent slept fitfully which woke Jack more than once and put them both in a bad mood that morning.  Jack was surprised to see Kent visible restrain himself from snapping at him twice over breakfast until they’d both finished two cups of coffee and got the boys dressed.  Jack began to appreciate how special their first breakfast of pancakes and bacon was when Kent put down yet another bowl of oatmeal for him, this time with strawberries and banana pieces.

“Ah fuck,” Kent grumbled when he spilled coffee on his shirt.

“Daddy said a bad word!”

“Fine!” the boys shouted which is how Jack learned they had a swear jar on the top of the refrigerator next to their extra batteries and a stapler.

Kent rushed back upstairs to get on a new shirt and gave Jack his customary kiss.  According to the calendar he had some work to do in Montreal and would take their second car while Jack dropped off the kids at school.  Thomas kept trying to take off his hat and squirm out of his mittens the entire ride but Jack counted it as a victory he kept his coat on.

With the kids at school, Jack had another quiet day to himself.  He took the time to do a proper workout, really put his body through the paces.  He had to be careful of how much weight he put on the bar and how many reps he did, and by the end of the second hour he was feeling tired but still good.

After a shower Jack still had some time to kill so he went looking for a camera.

He eventually found one in the office.  It was a newer model and it took Jack a while to figure out how to even turn it on but he was pleasantly surprised by the fact its battery did not need to be charged.  He grabbed one of Kent’s scarves and headed out to get a few photos of the house and the lake.  Jack spent a while carefully framing the shot he wanted of the frozen surface before moving on to take a few of the house and some birds in the trees that surrounded their property.

Later he went to pick the twins up from school and got them started on their homework because there was hockey practice that night which meant they would be too tired to do it after.  The boys were seated at the kitchen table working together on a homework sheet when Jack got a text from Kent to start dinner without him because he was tied up in Montreal.  He said he would meet them at practice at the absolute latest which left Jack to try to throw together a meal with enough carbohydrates and proteins to sustain two growing boys through a hockey practice.

He just stirred the pasta into a pot of boiling water when the boys got in an argument over their homework.

“No, this is wrong,” Arthur said.  “You do it like this.”

“No, I’m right.  It’s like _this_ ,” Thomas responded, grabbing his paper back.

“You’re just being an idiot,” Arthur huffed.

“Don’t call your brother an idiot,” Jack said, stepping in to mediate.  He glanced over the French and assessed that Arthur was in fact correct.  “Just because your answer is right doesn’t mean you have to be rude.  It means you get to help Thomas figure it out.  Try again,” he said patiently, ruffling Thomas’ hair.

Arthur looked annoyed but also somewhat chastised and he huffed before trying to explain to Thomas where he went wrong.  Thomas didn’t understand it so Arthur tried to tell him a third way which finally stuck and Arthur looked relieved.

“See?”

“Yeah, I get it now,” Thomas said dismissively.

“What do we say,” Jack prompted, poking him in the ribs.

“I mean, thank you for helping, Arthur,” he amended.

“There you go,” Jack smiled, ruffling Arthur’s hair before he got up to serve them all dinner.  “Nice explaining, Artie,” he told him and watched his son blush at the praise.

Jack set aside a plate for Kent though it didn’t seem like he’d be making it home on time.  There were no updates on his phone so he figured Kent would just meet them at the rink, the address for which Jack found on an envelope with the team newsletter.

“Okay boys, gear check,” Jack said and he watched his sons sort through their hockey bags to make sure they had everything.  He snapped a quick photo on his phone and sent it to Kent because the way they went through it all so methodically was adorable.  Kent just sent back a line of emojis which apparently moved in the future.  All Jack was able to piece together was Kent was probably in traffic?

They got to the rink and the twins practically sprinted away from him to get to their teammates, leaving Jack to look for Kent in the stands.  Kent was chatting in French with another one of the parents and brightened up the moment he saw Jack.  He watched Kent make some excuses to go join Jack higher in the stands, away from the other parents who stayed back to watch practice.

“Long day?” Jack asked.  “You’re back late.”

“Very long.  I had three cups of coffee so I’m pretty wired.  I’ll probably crash when we get back home,” Kent admitted, settling in next to him.  “But hey, I’m done talking to the Whitmores so the night’s already looking up.”

Jack glanced at the woman who Kent was speaking with earlier.  “What were you talking about?”

“What’s all she ever talks about?  NHL-this, Juniors-that, it’s all the same with them,” Kent waved it off.

Jack felt his hackles rise at the thought of someone trying to use their family connections to push their kids into hockey.  He wondered how his dad managed it when Jack was still a kid.  “They’re only six,” he said in exasperation.

“Oh well, you know how it is.  I’m just glad you’re here.  Keep glaring, it means they’ll leave us alone,” Kent said, reaching for Jack’s hand.  “What’d you do today?”

“Not much,” Jack said, watching the practice.  Kent glanced at him with a little frown and Jack wondered if he’d missed something.  But then the practice started up and they both turned their attention to the ice.

Jack watched the boys take the ice and start to run drills.  After so long in the NHL it was hard not to be critical of their performance and their form, even though he logically knew they were only children.  It took a few minutes but eventually Jack was able to shift his perspective and his expectations back to where they ought to be and he found himself enjoying the practice much more.

Thomas and Arthur were by far the most confident skaters even though they were a full year younger than some of their teammates.  Even at six, neither of them needed to look at the ice to keep track of their skates or to handle a puck with ease.

Arthur was intense and focused on the ice, but also open in a way he wasn’t at home.  Jack could tell Arthur was always looking for the open teammate, the best play.  He made a few passes that went wide and into the boards but they were passes always to where the other skaters should have been, like he expected everyone else to see what he saw.

The only player who could consistently match him on the ice was Thomas.  By comparison, Thomas looked to be having more fun.  He was all smiles and laughs.  Uncle Wayne certainly would be proud to see Thomas was taking 100% of his shots.  He wasn’t making them, but he sure was taking them.  Thomas clearly enjoyed playing hockey, but it was in the way he seemed to enjoy everything but homework and bath time.  He was having fun, but Jack thought maybe Thomas didn’t need it the way he and Kent did, even at that age.

Jack and Kent climbed down the steps towards the ice while the coach finished up her remarks to the team.

“Nice job out there, guys,” Kent said, giving each boy a fist bump.

Jack reached over to help carry their equipment bag.  Thomas began a heroic recount of his goal in the scrimmage and Kent nodded along like they hadn’t been watching the entire time.  Jack was more focused on Arthur who got two assists but hadn’t been able to score himself.  Jack knew the look of someone stuck inside their own head.

He reached out to put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder but his son wouldn’t look up at him.  “You did a good job, Artie,” he said quietly as they entered the parking lot.  Arthur just shrugged and kept walking.

He’s only six, Jack thought to himself while he loaded the gear in the car.

But how old was Jack when he first brought his stick into bed, trying to fight off dreams where he wasn’t good enough on the ice?

“Can you help me put them to bed tonight?  I want to talk to Arthur about practice,” Jack said to Kent before they went separate ways to their two cars.

Kent sighed and nodded.  “Yeah.  I figured you two would,” he said and Jack wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean but Kent seemed resigned to it.

Kent hadn’t eaten dinner so Jack let him reheat the food while he brought the boys upstairs to get them bathed and ready for bed.  Thomas was exhausted from practice and went down easily with just a kiss to the forehead.  Arthur looked more awake though and kept looking at their copy of _The Philosopher’s Stone_ like he wasn’t sure if he should ask for a story or not.

“Why don’t you and your Papa go downstairs and read for a while,” Kent said from the doorway.  He shared a look with Jack but Jack wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Arthur got out of bed and took the book, waiting for Jack at the door.  Jack held his hand and they walked down to the couch where Arthur hopped up and into Jack’s lap.

“Hey bud,” Jack said, pulling a blanket over their legs.  “Before we do our story, I was thinking of a word today you might not know,” he started.  “Expectations.  _Les_ a _ttentes._  Do you know what that means?”

Arthur furrowed his brow and shook his head.

“It’s like in _Harry Potter_ ,” Jack said, holding the book in his hands as he tried to piece together a way to explain it.  “When Harry defeats Lord Voldemort, he’s just a baby.  But then he gets to Hogwarts and all these people think he’ll be a great wizard, even though he’s never done magic before.”

“Except at the zoo with the snake,” Arthur corrected in a small voice.  “The boa constrictor.”

“Yes, except for at the zoo,” Jack amended.  “But people at Hogwarts don’t really know Harry.  They only know about his parents and what he did before he could remember anything, but they have the expectation he’ll be good at magic.”

Arthur nodded and looked down, away from Jack.

“Do you sometimes feel like that when you play hockey?” Jack asked him gently.

Arthur nodded his head again but his shoulders started to tremble.

Jack wasn’t ready for this.  It’d taken him thirty-four years and he still wasn’t sure how to deal with his anxiety every day.  The thought that his son might go through something similar made Jack’s chest tighten in fear.

But Arthur began to cry and Jack decided he could sort through his own feelings later.

“Hey, hey, I’m right here,” Jack soothed, holding him and rocking him a little.  “You’re okay, Arthur.  I’m right here,” he told him gently while Arthur turned towards him.

“Your Daddy and I are going to love you no matter what,” Jack promised.  “If you don’t want to play hockey, you don’t have to.  Nothing will ever change that.”

“No!  No, I don’t want to stop!” he said, sounding more panicked than before.  Arthur looked legitimately terrified at the idea of not playing hockey but before Jack could assure him they wouldn’t make him stop, Arthur continued in a whisper, “It’s just… what if I’m not as good as you or Daddy?”

Jack didn’t know how to tell Arthur that he could never win a game in his life and he and Kent would still be proud of him.

“I used to think the same thing about your Grandpapa,” he told Arthur and his son’s eyes went wide.  “I used to think I could never be as good as him, even when I was your age.  And I’ll tell you the whole story when you’re older, but I would think about it so much that I couldn’t sleep at night or it would wake me up with bad dreams,” he said and Arthur nodded with an understanding that made Jack ache.

“No one wins every game or makes every pass or wins every faceoff,” Jack said.  “Sometimes it’s your fault.  Sometimes it’s nobody’s fault.  You can only try to be the best player you can be and help your teammates be the best players they can be, like you helped Thomas today with his homework,” he said.  “No matter what, Daddy and I are always, always going to love you.  And we’re very proud of you.”

Arthur was curled up against his chest and held onto Jack’s shirt where it was dotted with tears.  “What if I want to be a goalie like Uncle Chowder?” he asked.

“Of course,” Jack told him though internally he was dubious.  Obviously, they would still love him, but Arthur had Forward written all over him.

“Okay.  I don’t want to be a goalie,” he said, wiping at his eyes.  “Can we read the next chapter now?”

“How about I read you the last chapter and if we get through that, I’ll read you the one after,” Jack said and Arthur nodded, eyes already drooping.

He was asleep before Jack finished the second page.


	6. Thursday

Thursday morning, Jack felt Kent slide out of bed before their alarm went off and he stirred in confusion.

“I got the twins, go back to sleep,” Kent said softly.  Jack remembered seeing something on the calendar for Kent in Montreal and figured Kent was probably just bringing them in on his way to work.

Once he heard Kent close up the garage, Jack found he couldn’t get back to sleep and decided to go for a run.  Snow sat piled up in banks on the sides of the road but the pavement was clear enough he wasn’t worried about a slip.  On his way back into the house, Jack sorted through thoughts on what to make for dinner and that anniversary gift but it all came to a halt when he saw Kent tapping away on his phone in the living room.

“I though you had a meeting in town,” Jack said, putting his shoes up the rack at the door.

“I cancelled it,” Kent told him.  “Go shower and meet me back down here to talk.”

Kent’s tone was cold and didn’t leave much room for argument so Jack did as he was told.  Jack thought back through their last few conversations but nothing explained Kent’s sudden shift in behavior.

Once showered, Jack couldn’t find Kent in the living room or the kitchen.  It wasn’t that large of a house and he eventually found him on the porch swing, looking out at the lake.

“Kent, what’s wrong?” Jack asked.

“Are you really going to make me ask?”  he said, looking out at the water.  Kent was wearing mittens that looked like they were knit by hand.  He had them wrapped around the mug but it sat full in his hands.  “We’re supposed to be a team, right, Jack?  That’s what you told me when we started all this.  That we wouldn’t have to do it alone anymore.”

“I’m not sure what this is about,” Jack said softly, reaching out for him.

Kent pulled his arm back and snapped his gaze to him.  “What this is about is how you’ve been off the last few days,” he said.  “What?  You thought I wouldn’t notice?  I thought I’d give you some time, let you work through whatever was bothering you, but it’s been a week and you haven’t come to me with it or even admitted anything was wrong.”

Jack’s throat suddenly felt dry because what could he say to that?  Of course he was off.  He was about ten years off.

“You’ve been like a stranger.  Constantly distracted.  You promised you wouldn’t hide things from me again and it’s freaking me out!” Kent’s hands shook and Jack saw him grip the mug tighter.

Jack knew Kent was angry but there was something less familiar in his expression.  Jack saw the same set to his shoulders as Kent had outside the twins’ school after their conference.  Jack wasn’t used to seeing Kent afraid but he could see how deeply hurt Kent was by the idea of Jack keeping secrets.  The last time Jack hid how bad things were from him, it didn’t end well for either of them.

“So how about you tell me what’s wrong, Jack?”

Jack didn’t know what to do and he felt cornered.  He could lie, but he didn’t think he’d be able to pull it off convincingly especially when he thought he’d been fooling Kent for the last few days.  Jack wasn’t sure if the truth was any better of an alternative.

“I don’t want to frighten you,” Jack admitted, looking away.

“I can take it,” Kent responded dryly.  Another reference to something Jack missed?  So often it felt like Kent said things expecting a certain response but Jack was always getting the words wrong, everything half a beat late.

“Last week, I was thirty-four,” he began.

“Zimms, if this is some sort of mid-life crisis bullshit I swear to God—”

“No!  I don’t mean I was mentally thirty-four or, or emotionally thirty-four or something,” Jack rushed to say.  “I mean I was actually thirty-four.  I lived in Providence and played for the Falconers.  Then I woke up here last week and—”

Kent stood quickly.  “If it’s something to do with the concussions then get up, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Jack’s blood ran cold at the mention of concussions but Kent was already pulling his phone out and tapping at the screen.  He managed to get off a few texts before Jack reached out to grab his wrist.

“It isn’t a concussion,” he said, standing with him on the porch.

“Jack, let go of me,” Kent said, voice low.  “You’re telling me you lost ten years of your life and don’t think you are in serious need of a doctor?”

“No, Kent, I don’t need a doctor,” Jack said in frustration.  Kent looked like he was ready to snap at Jack or maybe throw his mug at him but Jack didn’t let go.  “I just need you to trust me.”

Kent stopped short.  Jack dropped his arm the two of them stood like that, facing off against one another.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jack told him, softening his voice.  “Just please trust me on this.”

Kent searched his face before turning and walking back into the house.  Unsure what else to do, Jack followed.  He walked upstairs into their bedroom and into their closet, pulling down the boxes Jack had gone through the previous day.  He opened the one labeled _Wedding!_ and sorted through various mementos until he pulled out a letter on thick card stock where Jack had written Kent’s name across the front of it.

“If this is some sort of prank I swear to God I am never forgiving you,” Kent said, holding the letter like a weapon.

“I don’t know what that is,” Jack said and Kent tore open the seal and pulled out a few pages of heavy cardstock.

Jack only got a glimpse of the first page where he could make out the beginning lines

_“Happy Anniversary, Kenny.  Sorry I’m missing this one but I’ll make it up to you when I get back.”_

As Kent read he gripped the letters tightly, crumpling the sides of the paper.  Kent read the two-page letter through once and then flipped back to the first page to read it again.  He checked the back of the paper, looking for more, before turning back to Jack.

“You gave it to me at our wedding.  You told me to open it if you ever asked me to trust you and I didn’t want to,” Kent said eventually.

“Do you trust me?” Jack asked.

Kent nodded.  “Yeah.  But I need a minute though.”

“I’ll be downstairs.”

Jack walked back out to the porch and brought Kent’s mug of tea into the kitchen.  He sat on the couch and wondered if Kent was upstairs calling the hospital to have men in white coats cart him away.  Jack tried to shake the mental image.  If he was asking Kent to trust him, the least he could do was extend the same courtesy to him.

Eventually Kent came back downstairs and sat down next to Jack, a considerable distance further away than he did the day before when he laid his head in Jack’s lap.

“You really don’t remember anything?” Kent asked.

“Well from my point of view we haven’t done anything.  Nothing like this, at least,” he said, nodding at the house around them.

“Yeah, I guess that’s right.  Thirty-four.  Jesus,” he whistled lowly.  “I guess that kind of makes sense, though.  Part of me always wondered why you got back in touch.”

“I’m trying to figure out how to do it.  Do I just call you or something?” Jack asked.

“At thirty-four I don’t think you even have my number,” Kent said, smiling at some memory Jack didn’t share.  “I don’t know how much of this I should tell you.  I feel like I should make you work for it.”

“I want this to happen,” Jack said softly, looking down at his hands in his lap.  “I want this to go right.  So much went wrong the last time we were together, Kenny.  I just want this to go right.”

“Hey,” Kent said.  He crossed the gap between them and cupped Jack’s cheek in his hand.  “Who said you’re going to mess this up?  I’ve already fallen in love with you once.  Plus, now you have me here to help you get it right a second time,” he offered with a small smile.

Jack leaned into his touch.  “What happens now?”

“I already texted Swoops to pick up the kids and drop them off at your parents’ place,” Kent said.  “I told him we were getting an early start on our anniversary celebrations and Bob and Alicia have enough of the kids’ extra clothes it shouldn’t be a problem for them to stay overnight.  I figured we could just use some time alone.”

It’s a quiet day, mostly spent with Kent adjusting to Jack’s company.  Kent seemed unsure how much physical contact Jack was okay with and kept it at a minimum but there were times Jack would watch him reach out for him and stop himself with his hand halfway through the air.

Kent spent some time texting and they watched some television but before they knew it, the sky was getting dark.  Kent went outside to light the fire pit in the backyard and they ended up sharing the blanket left on the porch.

The sky was clear and they were far enough from the city they got a good view of the stars.  Thomas showed some interest in space.  Jack wondered if maybe they should get him a telescope for Christmas.

“Hey Jack?” Kent asked from beside him.

“Yes, Kent?” Jack had his arm across the back of the porch swing and Kent leaned a little against him.  They weren’t curled up like they would have been before, but it was still comfortable.  All it took was a few days for Jack to get used to Kent being back in his space and he could tell he would miss it.

“There’s something that’s been on my mind that I want to tell you, but I don’t want you to say anything until I’m done,” he said, watching him.  Jack turned away from the fire to give him a quizzical look.

“It was something I wasn’t ready to say at thirty-four,” Kent started.  “And I certainly wasn’t ready to say it at sixteen, but I think you deserve to hear it now anyway.”

“Kenny, you don’t have to—” Jack had a feeling where this was going.

“No interrupting,” Kent reminded him.  “I want you to know that I’m sorry for how things happened between us as teenagers.  And I’m sorry for what I said to you at that Samwell party.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jack said automatically and Kent gave him a look.

“Everything that happened between us wasn’t my fault,” he agreed.  “But I can take responsibility for what I said and what I did.  Because, at Samwell, it was wrong.  I shouldn’t have tried to bring you to Vegas like that… it wouldn’t have been good for either of us.  And when we were kids, I… I knew something was wrong but I didn’t say anything.  I was afraid to confront you or to go to someone else.  And ignoring it made it worse.”

Jack tried to swallow but his throat was dry.  The overdose was something he and Kent never talked about, not even tangentially, not even when Kent was throwing words in his face at Samwell.

“I can be responsible for my actions too,” Jack said after a moment, when he thought Kent was done.  “And I’m telling you right now, it wasn’t all on you.  I’m sorry I pushed you away after, so you didn’t know.  I pushed a lot of people away.  But I’m sorry.”

“You’ve told me that before,” Kent said, leaning his shoulder against Jack’s.  “Those years, I missed you a lot, Zimms.  I know I always said it.  But I meant it.”

Jack took in a shaky breath.  “I missed you too.”

“Tell him that, when you get back,” Kent said softly.  Then he knocked his shoulder against Jack’s and smiled at him.  Kent let out a long exhale and turned back towards the firepit.  “Besides, now I know you miss me all the time.  You can barely go twenty minutes without sending me a text.  ‘Here’s a picture of the sun through some leaves that made me think of you’ and ‘Did you know this random fact about Canadian history?’  I swear, some days you’re worse than Thomas.”

“What have you got against historical facts?” Jack asked with faux indignation.

“Nothing,” Kent laughed at him.  “I love all your texts.  When you first started talking to me again I’d try to memorize those random facts.  I read all of them to Jeff, too,” he said, smiling at the memory.  “Just let it never be said Jack Zimmermann is afraid to double-text.”

“Jack Parson,” he corrected and Kent beamed at him.  “But maybe we should’ve gone with Zimmermann-Parson for the twins.”

Kent snorted.  “Yeah, I’ll give you six years to work on that argument and you’re still gonna lose.”

 


	7. Friday

They tried to sleep in the morning of their anniversary but Jack’s biological clock woke him at six anyway.  He eased himself out of bed and Kent grumbled and reached for him but he was easy enough to evade.

Jack decided to go on a long run, jogging the large loop that went around the lake and half the neighborhood.  He hoped he’d be back late enough his shower wouldn’t wake Kent and was surprised to find Kent doing his own workout with some free weights in the living room.

“I still don’t understand how you like to run in this weather,” Kent said, wiping his forehead off between sets.

“It’s a balmy five degrees out there,” Jack teased.  “Too many years in the desert, eh?”

“What?  It’s like sub-zero out there,” Kent told him, affronted.  “Laugh it up, we’re hitting the books when you get back from your shower.”

Kent wasn’t kidding because after Jack cleaned up, Kent sat him down at the kitchen table and brought down an armful of binders from the office.

Kent wouldn’t give Jack direct answers on how certain things between them unfolded which Jack found understandable but also exasperating because the information Kent _would_ give him didn’t seem wholly relevant to where Jack was in their relationship.

“I feel like you’re focusing on the wrong things,” Jack said when Kent opened a second binder labeled ‘ _Financial Records_.’

“You know, I used to wonder how you always made such sound investment recommendations.  Figures I was behind it the whole time,” Kent plowed on, handing Jack a spreadsheet.  “You should be taking notes.”

Jack couldn’t help but sigh in relief when half an hour later Kent moved on to something a little more interesting, like their personal history.

“You want me to what?”

“Fight me on this,” Kent told him, both hands on the table and leaning forward.  “I’m going to insist on a warm honeymoon and you’re going to be like ‘no, let’s go to France and visit Normandy’ which is going to sound like the lamest thing ever but it was actually a lot of fun and a lot of nice stuff happened and we can always go to the beach for another vacation.”

Kent paused to think for a moment.  “Actually, if you say ‘we can always go to the beach for another vacation’ we’ll probably get into an argument so like just keep making those puppy dog eyes at me and I’ll cave eventually.”

Jack knew he was kidding but the idea of fighting with Kent brought him up short.  “Do we do that often?  Get into arguments?”

“I mean, I don’t want to lie to you,” Kent said, fidgeting with the office supplies on the table.  “We fight about the little things, like what Artie wears to school and that time we had spaghetti four nights in a row because I can’t portion control for shit.”

“No, not like that, Kenny,” Jack said with a sigh.

“I know,” Kent said, sitting down at the table.  “It’s not like… before.  We aren’t mean with it now.  But we’ve been together like ten years, and I can only think of two or three times we’ve had like knock-down, drag-out fights.”

Kent ran his fingers through his hair.  “The worst one was about me leaving hockey.  You said some things I needed to hear but I wasn’t ready for and I lashed out at you.  Preemptively, I’m sorry for that,” he said, wincing at the memory of what he said.  “But like, you could have definitely cushioned the blow.  The other was about having kids and I absolutely do not want to hash that out with you again,” he told him.

“What’s the third one?”

Kent sighed.  “Jack, the important thing is that we figure it out.  We never fight in front of the kids and even though I would have really preferred a heads up about this time-travel thing, it’s not like I’m going to scream at you the moment future-you gets back,” Kent told him.  He reached over the table, watching to see if Jack would pull away.  When Jack didn’t, Kent settled his hands over his.

“We’re not going to have a perfect relationship,” Kent told him.  “Even if I give you a cheat sheet to every time one of us messes up.  The biggest hint I can give you to making it work is know that when I’m mad at me I try to convince myself I’m mad at you and try to goad you into giving me an excuse to really be mad at you.  And apologies are important to me.  Making them and hearing them.”

Jack turned his hands over and gave Kent’s a squeeze.  “I just… I really want this.”

“You should, we’re awesome,” Kent smiled back at him before standing up.  Jack winced when he heard something crack.

“Getting old, Parse?” Jack grinned.

“Yeah, still not as old as you, though,” Kent said.  “But really I could use a good stretch.  Let’s bust out the yoga mats.”

Jack decided they could table discussion of the future for the moment and went to follow Kent into the living room.  He learned they liked to do yoga on the porch facing the lake but it was too cold for Kent so he settled for the windows facing the water.

Jack could feel his body was familiar with the movements and his balance was better than he ever remembered it being, but the moves were unfamiliar and more than once he overcompensated to stay upright and ended up almost tipping over.

“Getting old, Jack?” Kent chirped when Jack nearly knocked into him.  “You sound out of breath.”

“Hey, I went on a run this morning.”

“And I did a lift but you don’t see me bragging about it.”

“Yeah, well, you _are_ the trophy husband so.”

Kent leaned forward and then arched himself upward, forming a neat curve with his body.  Jack had to admit he was a little impressed.

“Is this how we stay spry in our old age?” Jack asked, getting back into position because he wasn’t about to let Kent beat him at yoga.

“Well it’s how we stay flexible,” Kent smirked.

Yoga turned into Jack almost collapsing on the couch and Kent joining him with a laugh.  Jack couldn’t remember the last time he just spent time with someone else in his space like he did with Kent.  It was comfortable and even with the doctor’s appointments and parent/teacher conferences and hockey practices, he’d rather be there in the house with Kent than back in Providence.

Jack got his biography and flipped through a few more pages.  It was interesting even if he knew he wasn’t going to be able to finish it before he went back to Providence.  Kent went up to shower and Jack chuckled when Kent tripped over one of the boy’s toys and swore.

“Fine,” he called out.

“Fuck you, Jack!” Kent called back from the stairs.

When Kent came back down he put on some soft music and started on dinner.  Jack knew that Kent’s repertoire of dishes was somewhat limited but he seemed to be more than competent at the few meals he could make.  Jack went to join him when he could smell steak sizzling in the pan with rosemary and garlic.

“Should I have dressed up?” Jack asked, noting Kent’s collared shirt and his slacks.  He skipped the tie and jacket, though.

“Well, it is our anniversary.  And given that my Jack didn’t see fit to warn me about this whole time traveling thing, I think it’s fair to say you get enjoy these prime, dry-aged steaks and he can have the leftovers when he gets back,” Kent said, flipping the meat over in the pan.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Jack said.  He hesitated a beat in the kitchen and moved forward to press a kiss to Kent’s cheek.  Jack hurried upstairs after that because he didn’t want Kent to see him blush.

Jack came down as Kent was getting everything on the table.  Steak, roasted broccoli, and sweet potatoes.  Jack waited in the doorway as he watched Kent try to decide if he was going to light the candles before putting the matchbook away in his back pocket.

“It looks delicious,” Jack said, coming over to one of the chairs.  “I feel a little bad, though.  It’s like I cheated you out of your anniversary.”

Kent shrugged.  “Life with the twins can be crazy.  A down day with you is nice whenever we can get it.  I don’t really mind.”

They sat down and Jack let his ankle rest against Kent’s under the table.  Kent didn’t seem put off by the physical contact, especially when Jack initiated.  If the last few days were anything to go by, he was probably used to a lot more of it from Jack.

Dinner was quiet but it was a comfortable sort of quiet, the kind that came without expectation.  When they were done, Jack helped Kent carry the plates into the kitchen and put away the food while Kent started the dishes.  They worked around each other, anticipating what the other needed and where to be like they had when they played on the same line.

Jack ended up drying the last of the dishes.  Kent eventually took the last plate and put it back in the cupboards before reaching for Jack and swaying with him in the kitchen.

“I didn’t know you like jazz,” Jack said.  There was a distinctly pop feel to it, but it was still relaxing.

“It’s mostly just dinner music,” Kent shrugged, moving back and forth with the music.  Jack wondered if this was something they did often when the boys were gone.

“Eight years, eh?” he said softly.

“Best eight years of my life.  Wouldn’t trade a second of it,” Kent said without missing a beat.

Jack moved slowly to cup Kent’s jaw and Kent leaned into his touch the way he had for the past week, like something instinctual.  Jack tilted his head upward and leaned forward slowly for a kiss.

He planned to keep it chaste but between the wine from dinner and how well Kent fit in his arms he ended up deepening it.  Kent hadn’t pushed for more than holding hands since his confession on the porch but Jack was kissing him unhurried until Kent pulled back.

“Jack,” he breathed and Jack moved to kiss his jaw.  “Are you sure about this?”

Jack dropped his hands to Kent’s waist and pulled back to look into his eyes, a soft brown in the light of the kitchen.  “Yeah, Kenny.  I’m sure.”

Kent chuckled and pulled back a little when Jack leaned in for another kiss.  “So, let me get this straight.  To you, we haven’t been together since we were sixteen?”

“Well, eighteen, if you want to be technical about it,” Jack said.

Kent laughed lightly and leaned back in for another kiss.  “Well, I am going to rock your world then,” he told Jack, leading him back to the stairs.  “If you want to be technical about it.”

 


	8. Saturday

Jack finally was able to sleep and woke to Kent getting out of bed.  Kent mumbled something about picking up the boys and told Jack he’d leave a pot of coffee on for him.

It was probably for the best.  With the few times they’d spoken of his parents Jack was just relieved to hear both seemed happy and healthy.  He and Kent agreed it would be for the best to limit the number of people from his past Jack interacted with since he told him about the time travel, though.

Jack was sipping coffee when Kent came back in the door, trailed by the boys stomping the snow off their boots.

Thomas launched himself into Jack’s arms to hug him and then launched into a story about how they played hockey and ate pasta and ice cream and saw a movie.

“Sounds like you had quite the day,” Jack said while Arthur interjected with more details every time he felt like Thomas was leaving something out.

“I also told the boys we’re calling them in sick for hockey practice today,” Kent said.

Jack’s confusion must have shown on his face because Kent laughed.  Arthur beat him to the explanation though.  “Because we’re going out on the lake!” he said, bouncing up at down.

“Yeah, I’m going to get these guys some breakfast and you can go shovel out the ice,” Kent said, ruffling Thomas’s hair.

“Wait, why do you get to do breakfast while I shovel?” Jack asked.

“Because I shoveled last time,” Kent smirked at him.

“Now why do I doubt that?”

“Doubt it all you want, you have no proof I didn’t,” Kent said, helping the boys out of their coats and directing Thomas to pick his up from where he threw it on the floor by the door.

Jack just smiled and shook his head and went to go get his boots on.  He was pretty sure he’d seen a shovel on the porch.  It hadn’t snowed since Monday and Jack could still see where they’d shoveled out on the lake before and the faint outline the snow blew over it.

When Jack finished shoveling and dragging the goal out onto the ice he saw Kent and the boys walking down the steps from the porch.  Kent had their skates over his shoulder, Arthur balanced a few sticks across his arms, and Thomas teetered with a bucket of pucks.  Jack’s hands itched for a camera.

“Thomas Prince Parson, you better put those gloves back on right now,” Kent called once the boys finished lacing up their skates and raced each other onto the lake.

“We should really get a bench down here,” Jack said as he finished lacing his skates up in the snowbank by the lake.

“You keep saying that yet you refuse to build one and won’t buy one so here we are, another year sitting in the snow.”

“Oh, and Kenny?” he said, leaning over.

“Yeah?” Kent turned towards him for a kiss.

But Jack had other ideas and shoved a handful of snow down the back of Kent’s collar.

“What the fuck!” Kent yelped, jumping to his feet while the snow melted down his back.

“Fine!” Thomas yelled from the ice.

“That’s for making me shovel!” Jack laughed, clutching at his sides even when Kent tackled him back into the snow, grumbling about freakish Canadian snow-people.

He and Kent made it onto the ice eventually and played keep-away with the boys.  Kent made dramatic lunges for the puck and Jack had to call Thomas for tripping more than once.  Arthur and Jack ended up in a race to see who could skate faster backwards and Kent shamelessly cheered for Arthur instead of Jack which Jack didn’t mind in the least.

They played two-on-two until Kent announced they needed to break for lunch.

“You’re not feeling tired from all that shoveling you did are you, Kenny?” Jack grinned as he helped the boys out of their skates.

“Wow guess who isn’t getting any cocoa now,” Kent said, throwing a handful of snow at him.

Lunch was microwaved leftovers which the twins didn’t seem to mind because they ate as quickly as possible to get back outside.  Jack and Kent took their time though, watching from the porch while the boys zoomed back and forth.

Kent handed Jack a mug of steaming cocoa.  “You don’t deserve it,” Kent said, sitting down on the porch swing next to him.

“Not even after I let you and Arthur win two-on-two?” Jack asked and Kent almost snatched the mug away.

They only got about ten minutes together before the boys were waving them to come back down so they could have someone judge their shootout.  Jack could feel the soreness settling into his muscles but it was his last day and the twins wanted to play hockey so he got his skates back on and went back down.

Kent stayed close by but begged off anything more intense than skating wide loops around them, saying his knee wasn’t up for the strain.  Thomas eventually went to go keep him company, holding Kent’s hand even though he clearly didn’t need it for balance.  The four of them stayed out until Jack could barely feel his hands through his gloves.  The boys whined for more time and Kent promised pizza if they went inside which seemed to do the trick.

Dinner was a whirlwind and there was a scuffle they had to break up about a video game system and Jack wondered, not for the first time, where their children got all their energy from.  Maybe he and Kent should have had kids earlier so they would have a chance at keeping up with them.

Luckily a week of practice got Jack in a rhythm for putting the boys to bed and he didn’t try to argue when they wanted him to read chapter after chapter of Harry Potter aloud.  He took pride in the fact they seemed to prefer his bedtime stories and was sure to do all the voices for them.

By the time the boys finally went to sleep, exhausted from all their time on the ice, Jack sought out Kent.  He could hear him in the office but the door was closed and Jack didn’t want to disturb him so he went downstairs.

Jack picked up the biography he’d been flipping through for the last week and turned to the blank pages in the back.  He wrote out a short note to himself, enough to jog his memory about the events of the trip, and placed the bookmark back where he found it on his first day.

Kent found him just as Jack was finishing off his note.

“So, tomorrow?” Kent asked as they walked up to bed together.

“Yeah, should be,” Jack confirmed.  They laid down and Jack pulled Kent close.  Kent always preferred comfort over harsh truths.  He tried to lightened his tone as he hugged him.  “If not, I give you full permission to cart me off to the hospital.”

“Not funny, Jack,” Kent mumbled against his chest.  Kent sighed and tilted his head up to look at him.  “When you get back to the past, things are going to be different with me.  So I want you to know right here, right now, I love you.”

“I know, Kenny,” Jack said softly.  He leaned in for one more kiss before they settled down for the night.

 


	9. Epilogue

For the first time in a week, Jack woke up alone.  There was a moment where he wasn’t quite sure where he was because he wasn’t in the house but he also wasn’t in his apartment.  Instead, he woke in a nondescript hotel room to the alarm on his phone.

Jack reached to turn it off, finding his lock screen the same picture of a fresh sheet of ice of the Falconers home arena it was before.  He unlocked it and the weather app confirmed he was in Los Angeles.

The roadie.  Right.

If a week passed the Falconers would have just finished a game against the LA Kings and would be playing the Colorado Avalanche before circling down to Las Vegas.  Meaning Jack had less than a week to piece together what he was going to say to Kent when he saw him.

Beneath his phone was a letter written out on the hotel stationary and a printed-out travel itinerary.  Jack rubbed a hand over his face and unfolded it.

_Welcome back.  The point-streak is at eleven games._

Right.  Priorities.

The letter continued with advice not to watch the games so he wouldn’t have an unfair advantage in the future which Jack agreed was fair.  He’d also included a few lines in case the media asked any specific questions.  Snowy had a shutout against the Kings so everyone went out to celebrate the night before.  Jack knew Snowy was still smarting about being moved to backup-goalie so the shutout would hopefully cheer him up.

There were a few paragraphs about some inputs Future-Jack made with the equipment managers about using a smaller stick with a different curve on the blade and while Jack was thankful for the advice, he could feel himself becoming irritated with his future self again.  Did he really not leave any guidance on how to convince Kent, a man Jack hadn’t spoken to in at least three years, not only date him but also to fall in love with and marry him?

Jack skimmed through the rest of the letter, knowing he could come back for the advice about his game later.  At the very last page, Jack found what he was looking for. 

 

> _When you play Vegas, talk to Kent before you leave.  Anton was one of his rookies and if you tell Kent he’s struggling to adjust to the Falconers, he’ll at least agree to dinner._
> 
> _I know this isn’t much, but in all the years we’ve been together the best parts have been the ones I didn’t expect.  Kent loves us more than anything and he’ll always surprise you with it.  You have a lot to look forward to._
> 
> _Best Wishes,_
> 
> _Jack_

Two sentences and five days to plan was going to have to be enough.  Jack took a deep breath and folded the letter back up before looking over the team’s travel plans.

To say Jack was distracted that week was an understatement.  He went through the motions with the team but his mind was on Kent and the kids and everything that hinged on making things work between them.

He tried to remember what Kent told him and Jack read over the note from his future self so many times the paper was starting to tear along the creases.  There was one line he kept going back to that was the only thing that calmed him down.

_Kent loves us more than anything…_

He’d deliberately referred to both of them, present and future, which gave Jack hope that when the Falconers finally played Vegas, he wouldn’t blow it.

By the time Jack stepped onto the ice for warmups in the T-Mobile Arena, he formed a semi-solid game plan.  Anton was having trouble adjusting to the Falconers style of play and while Jack would normally give him some more time before intervening, some advice from Kent would actually be appreciated.

The game was maybe the longest sixty minutes of Jack’s life.  The Aces seemed to have made it a mission to end his point streak and he was locked down by their defense as soon as he hit the ice.  Jeff Troy also extended his personal streak of slashing Jack to seven consecutive games.  Jack was so focused on Kent when he skated over to yell at Swoops for the late-game penalty that he barely felt the hit.

The Falconers fought hard but despite Jack’s two assists, they came up short.  Anton was rattled in goal and the Falconers struggled to come back from the two goals let in during the first period.  Disappointed, the Falconers cleared off the ice quickly.

Jack rushed through the post-game press and he was sure his answers were stilted and distracted but no one in the league expected eloquence from him and most of the reporters were more interested in harassing their goalie.  Jack pointed Thrash towards them knowing that he’d be able to get the media to back off the poor kid.

With that settled, Jack all but ran out of the locker room to go track down Kent.

Kent hadn’t felt the same need to hurry with the media and Jack ended up awkwardly waiting outside the Aces locker room while the other players filed out.  He was beginning to think that Kent left through another door or maybe Jack missed him entirely when Kent finally walked out with Jeff at his side.

“Kent!”

Kent was still in his game-day suit with his collar open and Jack was simultaneously struck with how much older he looked from when they were eighteen and how much younger he looked from when he was in his forties.

“Jack?  Is everything okay?” Kent asked warily, subtly angling himself between Jack and Jeff in case things turned ugly.

Jeff and Kent shared a look and eventually Jeff shrugged and continued down the hallway before either of them could start anything.  “See you tomorrow, Parser,” he said with a wave.  “Zimmermann.”

“Jack?” Kent said again, looking like he couldn’t quite figure out why Jack was sticking around.

“Do you want to get dinner?” Jack asked in a rush and Kent leaned back in confusion.

Kent was looking at Jack with the same suspicion Arthur did when Jack told him it was too cold outside for shorts.  This went so much better in Jack’s head.  “Anton Kantorovich,” he tried again, taking a deep breath to calm himself down.  “Our new goalie.  You and he were close, right?  I was hoping you could maybe give me some advice on helping him settle into Providence.”

“Oh, so like Captain stuff,” Kent said, relaxing a little.

“Yeah, Captain stuff,” Jack agreed readily and the two of them started to walk out towards the players’ parking lot.  After a few turns, it was just the two of them in the depths of the arena.

Jack cleared his throat.  “I mean, it might be good to talk about some other stuff too,” he said and Kent glanced at him.  His face was guarded, kept carefully blank but Jack thought he saw something else there too.  Hope?

Jack stopped and took a deep breath.  “I want to catch up, to know how you’re doing,” he added.  “I miss talking to you.”

Kent looked at him and Jack could see him trying to figure out if Jack had an ulterior motive or if he was somehow being played.

“Give me your phone,” Kent said.  Jack handed it over without question.  “I got a new number.  I don’t think you have it,” Kent told him and Jack thought it was a pretty deft way on handling that he thought Jack deleted his contact info.  Jack saw Kent was surprised to find it still in Jack’s phone but he still tapped at the screen.

When he handed it back to Jack, ‘Kent Parson’ in his contacts was replaced with a line of emojis.

Jack chuckled and pocketed it again.

“It’s pretty late,” Kent said, walking down the hall again.  “I know a few places we could go but if you want to talk about another player I’d feel better if we were somewhere private.  Plenty of places do delivery if you just want to have dinner at my place,” Kent offered.  Then his eyes widened and Jack saw a blush creeping up his neck.  “Uh, just dinner.”

“Yeah, just dinner, of course,” Jack agreed easily.

Maybe Jack got it wrong.  Maybe he shouldn’t have stressed himself out over saying the perfect thing to Kent, just something to start the conversation with him again.  Jack knew he wasn’t going to make Kent fall in love with him in one night, but maybe this was enough.  Maybe he just needed to be the one to reach out, to talk to Kent, and the rest would happen however it happened.

All Jack knew for sure was that walking with Kent again felt right, like maybe even if everything wasn’t perfect they could still fit.

 

* * *

Kent woke up to someone brushing his hair out of his face.  Jack.

Kent loved Jack and he trusted Jack but the rational (or maybe the paranoid) part of Kent’s mind worried Jack suffered a head injury, hid it, and concocted that past few days as an elaborate plan to keep it from him.

So when Kent opened his eyes to see Jack looking back at him fondly, Kent lunged forward to kiss him.

“I missed you so much, asshole,” Kent muttered as he clutched on to Jack’s shoulders.

“I didn’t miss your morning breath,” Jack laughed leaning in to kiss him anyway.  “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy belated anniversary, you mean.  Time travel, officially the worst gift ever,” Kent grumbled.

“Was it the worst gift… of all time?” Jack asked and Kent punched his shoulder.  Jack wrapped his arms around Kent and held him close.  “I mean, I did actually get you something.  A much better gift.  But let’s stay here a while,” he said, smoothing back Kent’s hair as Kent tucked himself against his chest.  “I missed you, Kenny.”

They stayed in bed as long as they were able until the boys started knocking at the door with cries for breakfast.  Kent groaned and tried to hide under the blankets.

“Weekends mean you make breakfast,” Jack reminded him with a grin.

“Stop touching me with your ice-cold feet, oh my God, I’m getting up,” Kent laughed, squirming away from him.  “I expect to see this somehow amazing anniversary gift when you get downstairs.  I’ve got yours stashed away in the study.”

Kent opened the door and was accosted by their youths.  He picked Thomas up with a groan about how heavy he was getting and Arthur laughed.  Kent was not above enlisting the help of his children in the kitchen and as long as they got to throw flour at each other, the twins were happy to assist.  And given that Jack was on kitchen cleanup, Kent was really going to let them go for it.

Jack was texting when he walked into the kitchen but put his phone away when he saw Kent plating their pancakes.

“Jeff’s coming by later,” Jack told him.  He bent down to pull both boys into a tight hug before ruffling their hair and dropping a kiss on their heads.

“Oh good, I made too many pancakes anyway,” Kent said, putting down a bowl of fruit.  “He won’t mind if we get started without him, though.”

Arthur reached forward to heap two massive spoonfuls of blueberries on top of his waffles and Kent sighed, moving the bowl out of his son’s reach while Jack tried in vain to mitigate Thomas’ syrup pour.

The doorbell rang and Jack herded the family into the living room, sitting Kent down on the couch.

Jeff, because he was a child, rang the doorbell three more times.

“Okay, here,” Jack said, shoving a scarf into Kent’s hands.

“Is this the gift because I’m gonna be honest, I’m underwhelmed,” Kent smirked.  “I’m pretty sure I bought this actually.  Like three years ago.”

“Just put it over your eyes,” Jack huffed.

“Oh, so it’s one of _those_ types of gifts,” Kent teased.  “Are you sure the twins should be here then?”  Even as he tried the scarf over his eyes he could feel Jack rolling his eyes.

“It’s more of a gift for the family, really,” Jack told him and Jeff rang the bell again while Arthur and Thomas giggled.

Kent leaned back into the couch and listened to the sound of Jack and Swoops in the hallway.

“Sorry my husband left you out there to freeze,” Kent said.

“I thought Canadians were supposed to be polite,” Jeff said.  “I like your scarf, Parse.  Aces colors, nice.”

“Okay, are you filming?”

“Yeah Jack, you’re not the only one who can use a camera,” Jeff confirmed and Kent felt a box being placed in his lap.  Kent could feel its weight and he heard one of the boys gasp but couldn’t make out much more than the shape.

Jack moved behind the couch and untied the scarf.

“Happy anniversary, Kenny,” he said.

Kent looked down and could feel his chest get tight.

In the box, curled up on a bed of towels, was a grey kitten.  Kent reached a hand out and carefully ran a finger down its back.  The kitten stirred but didn’t wake.

The boys crowded around the box.  Some part of Kent realized that Jack must have told them about it before because they were both careful not to disturb their new pet.

“Oh Jack, he’s gorgeous,” Kent whispered.  He couldn’t even bring himself to care that Jeff was laughing at him and probably putting it all up on the internet.  “What’s his name?”

“William Lyon Mackenzie King.”

“Absolutely not,” Kent told him, eyes still locked on the kitten.

“William Lyon Mackenzie King Parson?” Jack tried, leaning over the back of the couch to press a kiss to Kent’s cheek.

“Yeah, I’m not falling for that again.”  Kent carefully reached into the box and lifted the kitten out.

They talked about getting another pet before but Jack didn’t think it was a good idea with the boys so young.  Since the boys were older Kent thought about bringing it up but he knew Jack was home more and would be with their pet more often so he didn’t push.

“How about you guys name him,” Kent offered and the twins looked up at him.  “As long as you can both agree on a name.”

“So, what do you say,” Jack grinned, still leaning over the couch.  “Did I get you the better gift this year?”

“I got us airplane tickets to France,” Kent said, turning his head for a proper kiss.  “Of course you got me the better gift, asshole.”

“Fine!” the boys chorused, waking the kitten who dug its claws into his forearm.

Jack groaned and Jeff cackled behind his camera and Kent wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The twins name the cat Harry Purrer. They call him Purrs for short. Thus, Jack technically adhered to the eighth wedding anniversary suggestion of Bronze or Pottery!
> 
> First fic ever on AO3, hope you enjoyed it!


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